Wisdom Without Wealth

Those who grew up believing that there were those
Who were born to do the chores to which they're not disposed,
Seem also to believe that the work of a mother.
Is strictly something with which they can't be bothered.

This is the message in the movie The Help;
Generational wisdom is something that's felt.
It should be valued more highly than gold
But these people often have nothing when they grow old.

Why aren't we sharing our pensions with them
Who loved our children from babies to men?
We shouldn't abide them living in fright
That they'll have no warm bed at night.

And what about those who cook our meals --
Do we give them truly fair deals?
We expect them to work for a small allowance,
Knowing their families have no chance.

Americans are supposed to have no castes,
But the untouchable mentality holds fast.
Those who do the most essential work
Are treated as if they are dirt.

The people who learn by years of doing
Have knowledge that is worth pursuing.
We should honor the wisdom they contribute;
Paying them well would be our tribute.

Cleaning, Cooking, and Creation

It is really dangerous when I begin to clean;
I almost always overdo almost everything.
My daughter's family's coming for a short while;
I usually try to create an ambiance to make them smile.

This time I really did it, and it's not so very good;
I maybe cleaned a bit more aggressively than I should.
I wanted to present a tidy and clean home,
But I seem to have cleaned away the bathroom chrome.

There is nothing I can do to reverse this effect;
Now the bathroom looks like its suffering from neglect.
Perhaps I should stick to cooking; I'm supposed to bake
Our twelve-year-old granddaughter's cookie birthday cake.

My favorite thing in life to see, the thing that most pleases me
Is seeing my grandchildren together, and happy to be.
I think The Almighty must feel the same way,
That heaven will be when we all are home to stay.

And I believe that heaven begins here on earth,
With every person who was ever given birth.
We must look for the light in each others eyes;
For each of us are parts of The Almighty in disguise.

Cajun Cousins

We went "down the bayou," as we say;
We picked up my uncle's widow on the way.
I had convinced my bayou folks that I could
Be trusted to bring them some food.

My daddy's sister is quite the Cajun cook;
I've tried to get her to write a cookbook.
So it was a great honor to be
Entrusted with supper cooking duty.

Pot roast for plenty was what I made
We never know how many will be fed
Two cousins came over, a wife, and a son
We visited before the meal was begun.

We stood in a circle before we ate
A prayer was offered; food could wait.
We began the meal with my aunt's corn soup
She just couldn't, to being a beggar, stoop.

Conversation was lively; my cousin had killed a hog.
We spoke of everything from relatives to dogs.
King cakes, and cookies, and apple cake --
Everyone there seemed to have baked.

We rode home with stomachs and hearts that were full
The Cajun clan for me has a special pull
Everyone one who comes is treated like a dignitary,
And leaves with a feeling of being cherished.

As They Grow Old, Men Are Not so Bold

I watch these men as they grow old;
Their expectations don't now seem so bold.
They ask for things with a touch of gratitude;
This is an newly expressed attitude.

Traditional men have been beknighted,
And their women were to be slighted.
This seems the interpretation of many scriptures,
Which, on women's teaching, put strictures.

Women are deficient; men are the chosen ones;
This seems the message since western history was begun.
Why do some think it's better to limit eternity
To only those that look like you and me?

I love to see rainbows in the sky;
I love more to see them in others' eyes
It seems to me the acceptance of sacred in all life
Would lead to eternity with less earthly strife.

I wonder if these men have apologized
For all of their anger and all of their lies,
So that their children and wives can be at peace
When their earthly breath does cease.

Or will their families continue to pretend,
Once they die, that they never sinned?
And will the harm inflicted in this life,
To another generation, bring strife?

They have balanced the scales of life, I pray,
So whatever their sins, in their generation, stay.
And their families will spread the good,
As only a family built on honesty could.

History and Holiness

We all face feeling like useless accessories;
Our culture has no use for their ancestories.
There is so much wisdom that is being buried
Because our children are so harried.

That was then and this is now;
They don't want to be shown how
To avoid the mistakes of our pasts,
But this is what makes the Bible last.

Stories of the path to Holiness and then
The next generation starts over again.
We should pay attention and decide
To honor the failures of what has been tried.

We should honor the successes too,
And from these lessons, choose what to do.
But where are the scribes writing this down
Are there no more sacred scriptures to be found?

One generation to another
Says that they don't want to bother
With the lessons learned by others
Especially their fathers and their mothers.

And so we continue to make the same mistakes
That each generation before us makes.
It's not a god thing, it's humanity
That wishes, from our history, to break free.

Until we are willing to slow down,
The Spirit of generations won't make a sound.
From the mistakes of our past, we can only break free
When we are willing to, The Spirit, hear and see.

A Man Who Needs a Mom

I ran into our neighbor yesterday;
He's never before had much to say.
But this day, he wanted to talk
As he returned from his daily walk.

He lives alone with his dog;
I see them often as they jog.
I have wondered how he felt
I feared that asking, our boundaries would melt.

Today he told me he's moving away,
And that he's glad that he can't stay.
He says that he couldn't make friends;
He's leaving as his employment here ends.

The reasons he stated for being glad to go
Are things that I already came to know.
When you're an insider you have to agree
To reject everybody who isn't "we."

It can be very difficult for many of those
With open minds, who bigotry oppose.
People expect New Orleans to be
A much more cosmopolitan city.

I guess small towns are much the same;
It does matter what's your last name.
People divide themselves into clans
Based on beliefs on which everyone stands.

I am always glad to come home
Where we mostly spend time alone
But I don't know how he lives without
A soul mate that he doesn't doubt.

This is a man who could use a mother
A aunt, a sister, or a brother.
I left some cookies at his door,
Sorry that I couldn't do more.

I hope he finds someone to care,
Who may even want, his dog, to share
This is man who said to me
That he won't go to heaven, if it's dog-free.

Motherhood, Men, and Ministry

What of Jesus' mother allowing her beautiful baby boy to continue on his per-ordained path instead of his marrying and giving her grandchildren to ease her old-age? And what of the commitment of James, his brother, and Mary Magdalen , his sister/friend, who not only were with him in his walk through his joy and challenge-filled life, but also held his mother's hand in her suffering?

How heavy were their hearts and souls after Jesus' death? How grateful were they to have each other with whom to share The Holiness left behind? How awful is it that we have put a wedge between the males' and the females' ministries?

Priests may be the pastors,
But women are the ministry.
Women look into other's eyes
And into souls can see.

This is a gift of the sacred
When we reach womanhood,
That can be used for evil,
Or used for good.

This same gift may be given
To many of our men,
But they often aren't taught
How, their souls, to defend.

And because these men are
Programmed not to cry,
Their souls become overwhelmed
And they begin to die.

They reach out to innocence
To revive their dying souls;
At this time the giver and
The taker switch roles.

Because we want to believe
That leaders are more than mere men,
We deny that they have the need,
For their souls to be filled again.

Priests, Rabbis, Preachers
Are not prophets or gods
They minister with rituals
Of paths that have been trod.

Women have shown
The greatest bravery in life;
Standing strong with and for others
Through their strife.

It is long past time
That we stop the pretense
That men don't have feelings
And women don't have eloquence.

Let the keepers of ritual
Stop pretending to also be
The loving arms needed in
Soul-searching ministry.